


More Precious Than Gold

by RaeDMagdon



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bisexual main character, Consensual, F/F, Fingering, Happy Ending, Historical AU, Oral, PWP, Viking AU, Vikings, i tried to make it somewhat historically accurate but i can't make promises of perfection, lesbian main character, previous pregnancy mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24863782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/pseuds/RaeDMagdon
Summary: Lexa, leader of her own band of Viking raiders, discovers a much more valuable treasure at Hytham priory than she initially hoped to find.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 59
Kudos: 682





	More Precious Than Gold

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is @raedmagdon and so is my twitter!
> 
> Hytham isn't a real priory, but based on an amalgamation of similar institutions. St. Bernadette is the same.

Lexa turned to face the wind, smelling the ocean’s brine as she studied the coastline. It was barely dawn, but there was enough pale grey light to make out her target:‌ a smudged, shadowy building in the distance. While wintering off the coast of Ireland, she’d heard rumors of Hytham.‌ The priory was tucked away on a sacred island, home to vast hoards of riches the likes of which her people had never seen. Until now.

“Silence,”‌ she ordered. What little chatter there was died instantly as everyone in the longboat looked to her. These weren’t youngsters on their first raid, but experienced warriors. All wore studded armor and carried proper steel swords, rather than dull woodcutting axes brought from home. Privately, Lexa hoped they wouldn’t be needed. As long as the nuns handed over their treasure, she saw no need for bloodshed.

“We make shore on the right side of the building. If gates stand in our way, knock them down. Failing that, burn them. Gustus, remain with the boat and guard it with your life. I‌ have no desire to spend two seasons here building a new one.”

Gustus nodded, his scarred, bearded face solemn as ever.

“If the nuns resist, subdue them. Should they surrender, leave them be. We have come for plunder, not sport.”

There were no arguments from the crew, though Lexa knew a few would be unhappy. Even those who disagreed would never dare question her leadership. Satisfied all would obey, she turned back to the priory. Its shadow grew larger as their longboat followed the island’s rocky coast. She drew her sword, testing its edge with the pad of her thumb. Her blade was ready, but hopefully, it wouldn’t drink too much blood today.

***

Hytham’s gates blazed bright orange in the early dawn, filling the priory courtyard with the acrid smoke. Clarke clutched her pitchfork in shaking hands, breathing shallowly to lessen the burn in her lungs. Vikings! Though she’d heard of the raid on Lindisfarne five years ago, as all of Northumbria had, she’d never imagined they would strike here—one of the most tedious, remote places on earth.

The rest of the priory had fallen into chaos. Nuns and novices screamed like swine-demons cast out by the Son of God Himself. Some clutched the priory’s treasures, attempting to escape into the island’s wilderness, only to be cast down into the mud by tall, armored shadows. Gold-covered Bibles, tapestries, and silver candelabras were snatched from their grasping arms. Sometimes, blood spattered the churned-up mud.

Clarke clung to nothing but the pitchfork. She cared little for the priory’s ‘treasures’, such as they were—only for her own life, which she was prepared to defend dearly. She had survived in this horrible place, after all. What a waste to allow herself to be cut down now!

A specter of death came for her in the form of a short, lithe Viking, closer to her height than most of the other massive shadows tearing around the courtyard. The figure strolled almost casually toward her through a curtain of smoke and mist. His narrow shoulders were squared, and he moved with the grace of an experienced predator. He held his sword at the ready, and Clarke flattened her back to the stones of the nearest wall.

“Come no closer,” she shouted, more from desperation than a sincere belief the savage Viking would listen, “or I’ll learn the color of your insides!”

The Viking paused perhaps three yards from her. Fresh rays of blood-orange sunshine peeked over the courtyard wall at that very moment, and Clarke got a better look at the villain who threatened her. His hair was long and wild, woven into decorative braids. His eyes had been blackened for war, but there was no beard or stubble upon his chin. He looked young, far younger than Clarke had expected…

“Lower your pitchfork,” the Viking said, in a commanding but high-pitched voice that made realization dawn, “or I shall learn the color of yours.”

_ A woman! And she speaks English?  _ Surprising as they were, neither of those facts made this Viking any less dangerous. The shining steel sword in her hand made that much obvious. Clarke kept the pitchfork aimed at her adversary, a cold, fearful sweat breaking along the back of her neck. She jabbed at the Viking’s face, as it seemed to be the most vulnerable part of her body.

The Viking dodged easily, moving surprisingly little as the prongs thrust past her head. She closed in, sword raised, the light of battle blazing in her eyes. Clarke drew back, blocking with the pitchfork’s handle. A sharp clang rang out, sending a painful shockwave up her arm as metal struck metal.

“Stop this foolishness,” the Viking snarled. “Surrender, and I will not slay you.”

Clarke hesitated. She had no desire to fight for the priory, only her own life. If she was to be spared, maybe surrender would be better?  _ No! Why should I trust her? She could take me as a slave, or go back on her word. _

The Viking’s confusing statement made Clarke pause—only for a moment, but that was enough. Her sword flashed in the early dawn, and stars exploded around Clarke’s head as the pommel struck her skull, sending her into a heap on the ground.

***

The golden-haired girl slumped like a sack of potatoes, dropping into the dirt alongside her pitchfork. Lexa knelt, keeping her sword at the ready. Though she was certain her blow had struck true, she’d fought enough battles to remain wary of the ‘pretend to be unconscious’ ruse.

It was no trick this time. The girl lived, though she gave no reaction as Lexa placed the sword-tip against her throat. Her breathing remained slow and even, and her eyelids gave not a twitch. With a sigh, Lexa rose and departed, waving to one of her raiders. It was Anya, and Lexa was pleased to note that her sword wasn’t soaked in blood.

“The battle is over,” Anya said, sheathing her sword. “The nuns have been subdued. Their treasures are ours.”

“Good,” Lexa said. “Was there much bloodshed?”

“Very little,” Anya said. “A few of the nuns made nuisances of themselves, but most submitted easily. We will return home with treasure the likes of which none have seen.”

“Good.” Lexa’s eyes strayed over to the unconscious girl she’d struck. Treasure, indeed. Her raiding party rarely dealt in flesh, but the girl’s knowledge might prove useful, at least while they remained on the island. “Secure her and have her brought to a room for me. When she wakes, I will ask if she knows of any hidden treasures here.”

Anya noted the pitchfork beside the unfortunate girl. “She tried to defend herself. How can you be sure she will answer truthfully, or at all?”

Lexa shrugged. “She will, if she wishes to remain alive.”

***

Clarke woke with a splitting headache and a lump on her scalp the size of a goose egg. There was some dried, crusted blood around it, although she didn’t seem to be actively bleeding. Praise be to God, fickle as He often was, for small miracles. 

Satisfied that she was mostly unharmed, Clarke took stock of her surroundings. She was tied to a chair in one of the priory’s upstairs dormitories, judging by the familiar window to her left. She couldn’t see out into the courtyard, but perhaps that was for the best. She had little desire to look upon the nuns who had been slain, much as she’d disliked most of them.

The sound of footsteps on hardwood roused her from her gloomy thoughts. She tried to loosen the bindings around her wrists and ankles, but it was no use. The knots held firm, the rope chafing her skin. She remained bound and helpless as the dormitory door opened, revealing two figures.

One was the Viking woman who had struck her down in the courtyard. Clarke recognized those piercing green eyes immediately, as well as her wild mane of brown hair. To Clarke’s surprise, the Viking actually smiled—a nervous smile that made Clarke equally nervous. Meanwhile, the other Viking—also a woman—remained solemn and stiff. She drew her sword, and kept the blade naked as the first woman approached the chair.

“Hello,” she said, in heavily accented but understandable English. “I am Lexa. The other woman is my leader, Anya. She has ordered me to question you.”

Clarke glared at the woman—Lexa—with mounting suspicion. “Why haven’t you slain me?”

Lexa exchanged a look with Anya, who gave a stiff nod. When she spoke, however, it was to Clarke. “My leader speaks no English. She wishes me to ask if this priory contains any special treasures. Secret things, hidden away. If you tell me this, your life will be spared.”

In spite of her fear, Clarke rolled her eyes. The fact that she hadn’t been killed immediately, and that her captors wanted something from her, gave her some confidence. “If we have such treasures, the prioress and nuns wouldn’t reveal them to me. I’m only a novice.”

“A what?” Lexa asked, tilting her head. She looked less fearsome while engaged in conversation, almost like a normal human being. A human being willing to sack priories and murder anyone who resisted…

“A novice,” Clarke said. “Someone training to become a nun. I was sent here against my will.”

Lexa’s eyebrows rose. “Why?”

Clarke bristled, digging her nails into her palms. “That’s none of your concern.”

“Tell me anyway,” Lexa said. “With your life at stake, can you afford to keep secrets?”

Clarke scowled. She didn’t have much choice, tied up as she was, faced with two armed Vikings who wanted answers. “I was with child,” she admitted, haltingly. “The father wouldn’t claim parentage unless I married him, which I refused. My parents gave the baby away and sent me here.” She deliberately left out the part where she had been caught kissing her would-be husband’s sister in one of their family’s empty barns. For all she knew, Vikings frowned upon such sinful acts much like Christians.

“Ah,” Lexa said, with a surprising lack of judgment in her tone. “Would you return home, if my leader spared your life?”

“Never,” Clarke said. “My daughter is gone, taken in by a wealthy family, and I wouldn’t be welcomed back. My parents would send me away again if I returned _.” _

“Your God seems a strict one,” Lexa said, with a disapproving wrinkle in her brow.

Clarke gave no response. It was true enough.

Lexa waited a moment, then turned to her leader. They spoke in a language Clarke couldn’t understand, until Anya gestured impatiently and Lexa turned back to her. “My leader asks again. Surely you must have something of value hidden here?”

“Aside from what you’ve already taken? No.”  _ Unless…  _ Clarke hesitated. Surely pagans wouldn’t be interested in a saint’s relics, the only true treasure the monastery possessed. Still, she was no great believer. And what if it saved her life? She had no desire to die protecting some old bones that might or might not possess magical properties.

“You sound uncertain,” Lexa said, her eyes soft with understanding. Clarke found it more disarming than she wanted to admit. “There is something here, isn’t there?”

Clarke confessed with only a slight twinge of conscience. “The nuns here preserve the relics of St. Bernadette the Chaste. They’re said to have healing properties.”

Lexa’s brows rose. “A magical relic?”

“Perhaps,” Clarke said, “but they must have some material value as well. St. Bernadette’s remains lie in the chapel, in a glass box draped in satin cloth.”

To Clarke’s relief, Lexa seemed pleased with the information. She spoke to Anya, who departed at a fast clip. As she disappeared into the hall, realization dawned, and Clarke’s stomach sank. Oh, no. Judging from tone, that had been an order. She didn’t need to speak the Vikings’ language to realize that  _ Lexa _ was likely  _ Anya’s _ leader, and her interrogation had been a ruse.

“You led this attack, didn’t you?” she blurted out, before she could think better of it.

Any softness that had been present on Lexa’s face vanished in an instant. Suddenly, she was all cold, unforgiving steel, from the jut of her chin to the tension in her shoulders. “Be glad I did, young novice. Others might have slaughtered your nuns without a second thought, rather than merely subduing them.”

“If you’re such an honorable thief, you’ll release me as you promised,” Clarke said.

A flicker of interest crossed Lexa’s face—brief, but visible nonetheless. “Once Anya confirms what you have told me of the priory’s magical relics, I will release you. I will leave here with my raiders, and you and the nuns may rebuild, if you wish.”

Clarke’s stomach gave a pang of disappointment. It was only after Lexa offered mercy that she realized she didn’t actually want it. At least, not the kind of mercy Lexa had described. She loathed the priory and its endless restrictions. This past year, it had been her prison. Here, possibly, was her chance to escape.

“Take me with you, not as a slave, but a passenger. Just for a few days, to… anywhere else. I’ll cook, darn clothes, even paddle that giant longboat of yours. Anything.”

“Anything?”

The single word fell from Lexa’s lips, spattering like a cold drop of rain upon Clarke’s head. Her face flushed. “Not that,” she said, wishing she could take back the offer.  _ But this Lexa has been reasonable so far. Surely she wouldn’t…  _ “I doubt all your followers are as handsome as you,” she added, in hopes a touch of flattery might save her.

That seemed to take Lexa by surprise. Her green eyes widened, then narrowed with an almost predatory glint. Clarke, despite her best efforts, found it somewhat bewitching. She’d always had a weakness for women with well-defined jawlines and presences larger than they were. That weakness was, in fact, why she’d been sent to the priory in the first place.

“A bold statement,” Lexa said. “You mistook my meaning, but since you brought it up, I must admit my surprise. I would not have expected such a compliment, or such interest, from a Christian.”

Clarke’s heart raced.  _ Lexa isn’t serious, is she? And I’m not actually considering this, am I? _ “My faith is weak in that regard,” she admitted. “I comfort myself with the thought that God has more important things to concern Himself with than something so earthly as the sins of the flesh.”

Lexa continued staring, and despite her silence, her look was one Clarke could hardly misinterpret. There was lust in it, the same as any man—the same as the women Clarke had fallen into bed (or other, less comfortable places) with. Warning bells clanged in her head like the ones that summoned her to worship thrice a day, but they seemed dim and distant.

It had been a year. Perhaps she was more desperate than she’d realized. Very few of the nuns at Hytham were her age, and there were none she would risk sharing her bed with, despite what crude jokes about the order might imply.

_ Go to bed with this woman, and earn my escape from this rock. This works in my favor both ways. _

“I may have mistook your meaning, but don’t mistake mine. If you free me—not just from this chair, but from this whole dreadful place—I will lie with you. You, but no others among your warriors.”

To Clarke’s surprise, and growing eagerness, Lexa smirked. “Then we have an arrangement. But first, your name.”

An order, not a question. Clarke suppressed a shudder, suddenly very aware of the ropes that still bound her wrists and ankles. “Clarke.”

***

Lexa approached the chair, and the woman bound to it, with caution. In the back of her mind, she wondered if this might be a trick. An attempt to escape, perhaps? Nevertheless, she was confident she could handle herself in a scrap against the novice. Judging by the way Clarke had wielded the pitchfork in the priory courtyard, she had no training, only an admirable spirit. Lexa had to admit that she found it intriguing.

She untied Clarke’s feet first, wary of kicks or a headbutt from above. None came. Clarke merely sighed with relief, rolling her ankles to ward off numbness. She did the same when Lexa freed her hands, stretching her arms overhead. The motion made her breasts shift beneath her white robe, marred by the dirt of the courtyard and a few bloodstains as well.

Lexa stared openly. It was mildly embarrassing, this strange feeling of arousal in the pit of her belly. She rarely indulged in the pleasures of the flesh, and for good reason. She had warriors to command. A reputation to uphold. The women she encountered were either part of her warband, or foreigners whose villages she raided. Hurting them beyond what was necessary to seize their valuables brought her no joy.

This situation was different. As Clarke rose to her feet, swaying slightly, Lexa offered a hand to help steady her. Clarke’s fingers wrapped around Lexa’s forearm, warm even though her leather wrist guard. Clarke offered the briefest smile—the first she’d shown during their brief interactions—and Lexa’s eyes widened.

“Are you… satisfied with our arrangement?” she asked, staring into Clarke’s eyes. They were a curious shade of blue, darker than most, but with seemingly endless depth. “Should you refuse me, I will release you with the other nuns when we depart from the island.”

“I have no desire to be released.” Clarke tilted her head, brows raised slightly, but didn’t remove her hand. “Hmph. A raider with manners. You certainly aren’t what I expected, considering the tales I’ve heard of merciless pagans.”

Lexa smirked. None of her raiders were around to see, after all. “You are nothing like I expected, either.”

Clarke’s hand slid further, until her fingertips rested just beneath Lexa’s shoulder. “You aren’t the first to say so.”

Heat pooled in the cradle of Lexa’s hips. Her fingers twitched with the urge to run through Clarke’s golden hair and pull her close.  _ Then why do you resist? _ her mind’s voice whispered.  _ She agreed to this, and after tonight, you will never see her again. No one will have cause to call you weak. _

Determined, and more desperate than she wanted to admit, Lexa did exactly that. She threaded her fingers through Clarke’s hair, more gently than she’d meant to, and drew her close. Clarke’s breath was warm upon her face, and came in small pants, as though she were nervous. Lexa gazed deeper into Clarke’s eyes. No, not nervous.  _ Excited.  _ Despite the passing of the years, she remembered that look. She knew what it meant.

“Will you obey me, Clarke?” she asked, tightening her grip ever so slightly in Clarke’s soft locks.

Clarke leaned even closer. “As it pleases me. And what of you, Lexa? Will  _ you _ obey  _ me?” _

Lexa almost laughed. How  _ daring _ this novice was! Spirited, indeed. “If your orders result in pleasure, I will consider it.”

She was not prepared for Clarke to lean in and kiss her first.

It was a warm, closed-mouthed kiss to start, but a shudder raced down Lexa’s spine nevertheless. She grasped Clarke’s arm, mirroring the way Clarke clutched hers, and tried not to melt in a single instant. Hardened warrior though she was, it had been  _ so long. _ When was the last time someone had touched her with such tenderness? Certainly not a member of her warband. Perhaps a healer? A rare pat on the shoulder from Anya? It had been long enough that Lexa could not remember.

Her mind refocused as Clarke’s lips parted, moving against hers. Novice though Clarke was, this was  _ not _ a novice’s kiss. There was no shyness or hesitation, and that pleased Lexa greatly. She tasted of heat, mostly, with a touch of salt. When Clarke’s tongue swept against her bottom lip, she barely stifled a groan.

Drawing on all the control she possessed, Lexa broke away from the sweet well of Clarke’s mouth. She used her hand to turn Clarke’s head, directing her gaze toward the nearest dormitory cot. “Remove your robe,” she ordered, “and get onto the bed.”

Clarke obeyed. She peeled off the robe slowly, seductively, maintaining eye contact all the while. Beneath the white habit, her figure was surprisingly lush. Her breasts spilled out of her smallclothes, larger than Lexa had anticipated, and her thighs were delightfully round and soft looking.

“Beautiful,” she said, staring openly.

“A body that inspires sin,” Clarke sighed, removing her smallclothes as well, “or so I’ve been told.”

Lexa shook her head. “A body for pleasure, or so it should be.”

For the second time since their meeting, Clarke smiled. 

With a sway, Clarke went to the cot, where she sat but didn’t lie down. She waited expectantly, blue eyes beckoning like a light on the shore during a sea-storm. Lexa was drawn to her just the same. No longer afraid this was some trick, she stripped off her armor. Studded leather pieces fell to the floor one by one, until she was forced to bend and remove her boots.

Clarke watched with keen interest. “Impressive scars,” she mused as Lexa peeled down her pants, revealing several white slashes, scores, and bands around her thighs. Skilled enemies knew what a vulnerable place the inside of the leg could be.

Lexa spared them only a brief glance. She was so used to her scars, she hadn’t spared a thought for how Clarke might view them. The lust in Clarke’s eyes hadn’t dimmed, though, so Lexa basked in the stare, taking her time as she finished undressing. Once she was naked, she climbed on top of Clarke, sighing as their skin finally touched. Clarke was soft, warm, and absolutely everything she wanted.

***

Clarke held Lexa’s face between her hands, kissing the bridge of her nose, her forehead, her hairline. Her own nose brushed the bold line of Lexa’s eyebrow, then burrowed into her temple. For someone who had spent that morning in the thick of battle, Lexa smelled surprisingly good: warm, with only a hint of sweat. Clarke’s thumbs stroked the planes of Lexa’s face—high cheekbones, the shell of both ears. Underneath the smeared warpaint, she was surprisingly beautiful.

Lexa tilted her chin down, wordlessly demanding more, so Clarke rose up, bringing their lips together. They were as warm as Lexa’s smell, if slightly chapped. Feeling bold, Clarke touched one corner with her tongue, sweeping along Lexa’s bottom lip in hopes of being granted entrance. Lexa’s lips parted, but before she could deepen the kiss, Lexa’s own tongue pressed into her mouth instead.

They kissed until Clarke forgot how to breathe. Lexa’s tongue moved within her mouth, always demanding, but never forceful. It was completely different than any other kiss Clarke had ever received. Those had been rough and entitled, or shy and timid. Not Lexa’s. The Viking knew precisely what she wanted, and how to make Clarke want the very same thing.

At last, Clarke broke away, resting her face against Lexa’s throat. Her fingertips trembled as they traced down Lexa’s arms, narrow but surprisingly strong as they supported her weight, to her collarbones, which were wonderfully prominent. She only managed to hold off a few moments before cupping Lexa’s breasts. They fit perfectly in her hands, their peaks straining into her palms. She circled her thumbs around them, enjoying the way they stiffened.

“Clarke.”

The dark, raspy tone of Lexa’s voice sent a shudder down Clarke’s spine. She stared up in awe, taking in the lovely image of Lexa above hers: hair falling over her forehead, face in shadow. She kissed Lexa’s lips again, then lower, following the line of her shoulders, nuzzling each hollow before finally, finally taking a nipple between her lips and circling her tongue around it.

Lexa muttered her name again, threading insistent fingers through Clarke’s hair. It was a tense grip, but never painful as Lexa fisted the locks, urging her to stay exactly where she was. Clarke had no desire to leave. She sucked one nipple, then the other, switching at Lexa’s direction, hyper aware of the way Lexa’s hips stirred, grinding down her belly. Wetness smeared along her stomach, and Lexa’s scent grew stronger in her nose.

“I need to taste you,” she pleaded, breathing over the nipple she’d just sucked. The heat of Lexa’s arousal on her stomach threatened to drive her wild.

Above her, Lexa smirked. “You are even bolder than I thought,” she said, but she shifted up along the cot, kneeling over Clarke’s shoulders.

Her pussy was beautiful: pink, swollen, partially concealed by a thatch of wiry black curls. And wet. So wet. Clarke longed to run her fingers through it, to feel its silky, shimmering texture. But her tongue ached in her mouth, so she succumbed to her greater need first, following her nose until her lips were pressed right to Lexa’s heat, learning her smell and taste. She nuzzled, then licked, then sighed as she gave herself over to pleasure—something she had not done in well over a year.

Oh, she had forgotten how much she missed this! The taste of a woman who wanted her. The twitch of muscular thighs against her cheeks. The firmness of a clit between her lips, swelling as she sucked. Wetness smeared all over her cheeks. She’d missed this. She loved this. It had been worth getting banished to the priory for, and it was worth escaping for now. Though she did not dislike men, she loved women, and she felt as though she’d been starved of something as important as food, water, or air for the past year.

Above her, Lexa began to tremble. Her soft panting became a series of low groans, and her abdomen tensed, showing the impressive cut of her muscles. Clarke admired them as best she could while still licking every part of Lexa she could reach, from soft, short strokes to long, firm drags, with plenty of sucking in between. She flicked her tongue over the tip of Lexa’s clit, then slid lower to thrust inside, enjoying the sharp cry she earned as she did.

“Tease,” Lexa growled, fisting her hair tighter. “Finish me. Or must I make you?”

The threat, though it bore no danger, lit a flame in Clarke’s lower belly. She thrust until her jaw ached and sucked until her cheeks hollowed, burying herself as deep as possible into Lexa’s warmth. She struggled to breathe, but persisted despite the burn in her lungs. She wanted Lexa to come in her mouth, and the sooner the better. She  _ hungered _ for it.

It happened sooner than Clarke expected. Lexa’s other hand left the cot and moved to grasp her hair as well, holding Clarke’s head in place as she bucked her hips one final time. Wetness gushed around Clarke’s tongue, over her lips, around her chin. She latched onto Lexa’s clit and pulled, flicking her tongue ever so softly as more silky warmth spilled down her face.

_ Now this is truly a worthy sacrament, _ she thought, guiding Lexa through her peak. Her hands settled on Lexa’s backside, squeezing the same way Lexa clutched her head. Clarke understood. The thought that they might be parted too soon was somehow agonizing, in the intensity of the moment.

Only when Lexa’s hips stilled and the spasms ceased did her hands loosen, allowing Clarke to flop back onto the pillow. There was a twinge in her neck, and her face was a mess, but it had been more than worth it. Lexa’s brilliant green eyes now had a dreamlike haze, the sight of which Clarke knew would remain burned in her memory for years to come.

“You have done this before,” Lexa panted, her slack lips pulling into a smile that was almost playful.

“A time or two,” Clarke admitted. Her heart glowed with the compliment. “You have my thanks.”

Lexa’s brows rose. “Your thanks? For servicing me?”

“Yes. There were… scarce opportunities here, when I came to live at the priory.”

Lexa’s smile turned predatory. “Then you shall wait no longer.” She lowered the warm, lean shape of her body over Clarke’s, kissing a blazing trail down from her lips—and a kiss that tasted of them both—to her breasts. Then, it was Clarke’s turn to fist Lexa’s hair and hold her close as the heat of Lexa’s mouth surrounded her right nipple.

***

Lexa moaned around the stiff pink peak between her lips, circling eagerly with her tongue. Pulling earned soft, sweet whines of approval, while using the edges of her teeth made Clarke’s hips rock up to meet hers. She wedged a knee between Clarke’s thighs, thrilled as slickness smeared against her skin.  _ Beautiful. _

Christian though she was, surely Clarke had Freya’s blessing. Soft, pliable, responsive—and yet incredibly daring. She let go of Lexa’s hair to score her back with scratches, grasping Lexa’s backside again and pulling her closer.

Lexa’s head spun. It had been years since she had shared skin with a woman thus. How could she have forgotten? How had she managed to put this from her mind for so long? She had often rolled her eyes—privately—at her raiders, and what she considered to be their base physical desires. Yet, in Clarke’s arms, she was no better. She was a creature of famished lust whose appetite could not be sated. She kissed down Clarke’s belly, ducking beneath her knees and burying her face between them.

Clarke’s taste was strong, but all the better for it. Lexa savored the first lick, moaning as the flavor spread across her tongue. The slickness between Clarke’s lips was hot and silky, too—sweeter than wine, and it left her nearly as dizzy. Oh, she had missed this too! She sucked the swollen bud of Clarke’s clit, delighting in the way Clarke’s heels dug into her back, a wordless sign of encouragement.

“Oh!”

That soft, breathless ‘oh’, followed by the urgent rocking of Clarke’s hips, made Lexa’s blood thrum and her heart pound. It reminded her of the tingling rush that surged through her body in the midst of battle. The moment when she cast off all fears and doubts, becoming something more than human.

Deeply buried instincts rose within Lexa, awakening for the first time in years. She growled, curling her fingers around Clarke’s upper thighs, careless of the bruises she might leave. She wanted to leave Clarke a scorched field of her former self. To raze Clarke’s very soul with only her mouth. To fuck her like the world’s end was upon them—as though she were the great wolf himself, and her chains had been broken at last.

Clarke had no objections. Her fingers threaded through Lexa’s hair, grasping tight and pulling shamelessly. “More!”

Lexa was struck by the sudden urge to feel Clarke from the inside. She moved one of her hands between Clarke’s legs, seeking her entrance with one finger, then two. They slid in easily, and the two of them moaned in unison. 

Clarke’s inner walls bore down, unbelievably tight, but she was more than slick enough. Lexa thrust deeper, curling her fingers until she found the spot that made Clarke’s pelvis lift and hover several inches off the cot.

“Lexa!”

Lexa was entirely unprepared for how wonderful it was to hear her name fall from Clarke’s lips. The way Clarke said it, as though cherishing each syllable, stoked the fire in her belly until it became a blaze. She pushed deeper, applying pressure to the same spot and sealing her lips around the stiff bud of Clarke’s clit.

_ If I could do this for an eternity, I would. With her. _

Perhaps the thought would have startled her, had she not been so distracted. She had only known Clarke for a matter of hours. She was a foreigner, a nun, a Christian. And yet, something within Lexa rebelled at the notion of letting her go. At the thought that this might be the only time she would be permitted to enjoy this bliss. She refused to entertain that possibility. For just a moment, she allowed herself to pretend. Perhaps it didn’t have to end?

Sadly, it did end, as all things were meant to. Clarke’s hips jerked out of rhythm, and she clutched Lexa’s hair tighter, crying out in desperation. The sound sent a thrill through the very marrow of Lexa’s bones, but she kept going, ignoring the ache in her jaw. She sucked Clarke’s clit deep into her mouth, lashing with her tongue.

She knew she’d succeeded when a burst of wetness ran down her chin, smearing her cheeks with slick, salty heat. It was wonderful. Glorious. She gathered as much as she could, pausing only to breathe in Clarke’s scent and scatter kisses over her soft, slickened thighs.

“Lexa,” Clarke murmured, pushing gently at her hair. “Enough. I need to breathe.”

Lexa moaned in displeasure, not wanting to stop. She only did so when Clarke guided her away with more insistence, obviously too sensitive to continue. Pride filled Lexa’s heart. Apparently, years of celibacy had not completely erased her prior experience.

“If I could breathe nothing else but you, I would die happily,” Lexa murmured, without much thought.

As soon as she realized what she’d said, she stiffened on top of Clarke. What weakness had poisoned her? Surely a few minutes spent sharing a beautiful woman’s bed was not enough to inspire such poetry of words? For a stranger, no less, in a language that was not even her own…

Luckily for her, Clarke laughed. Granted, she was somewhat breathless after orgasm, but clearly amused. “Please, refrain from dying. Otherwise I’ll have no one to take me away from this horrible island.”

“Is it really so horrible?” Lexa asked, lifting her head.

Clarke groaned, flopping her head backwards onto the pillow. “Prayer thrice daily. The simplest of meals. Constant work. Little sleep. No one but nuns to talk to, and never about anything but the Lord’s work. I would much prefer to live elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?” Lexa inquired. “Somewhere you could keep company with women?”

“I know of no such place,” Clarke said. “We exist to serve men, or are abominations in the eyes of God.”

The bitterness, the weariness, in Clarke’s voice further thawed Lexa’s heart. “I know of such a place. In my homeland, we may divorce, own property, and keep company with whomever we choose.”

“So, women may live as men?” Clarke propped herself up on her elbows, blue eyes wide.

“Not all, but some,” Lexa said. “My raiders respect me as much as any man. I will accept no less.”

The grin that spread across Clarke’s face was brighter than the lovely golden wheel of the sun. “Will you take me there, to your homeland? I would dearly love to see such a place.”

“You will find no other Christians there,” Lexa warned her, hardly daring to hope. Life had shown her that hope was a fleeting and fickle thing. And yet, part of her could not help herself. Anya had always said she was possessed of a tender heart, and her old mentor was rarely wrong.

Clarke rolled her eyes. “I have had enough of my own kind. I should very much like to go.”

Lexa licked her lips, which had suddenly gone dry. They still carried Clarke’s taste. The thought that she might be granted such a beautiful woman’s favors again—a woman with dreams and determination, no less—convinced her to make a daring offer.

“Then I will show you. That is, if you would share my company aboard my ship.”

“Would you teach me to fight?” Clarke asked immediately.

“Of course,” Lexa said, “should you desire to learn.” The thought excited her. She could picture herself teaching this strange, brave woman to walk the oars of the longship and wield a sword. Such an undertaking would surely make the journey pass more quickly.

“I would,” Clarke said. “To defend myself, at the very least.”

“Then you shall.”

“Will your crew object?” Clarke asked.

Lexa shook her head. “My crew obeys. I have long since tamed any wildness in them.”  _ And yet, I have a feeling the gods themselves would fail to tame you, Clarke. _ That was another pleasing thought. Clarke was the kind of creature who should be allowed to run free. She was too wild and beautiful to be kept in a prison like this.

“Have no worry that I will be a burden to you. I promise to make myself useful. I might even prove pleasant company for you.” The way Clarke caressed Lexa’s braided hair, giving it the slightest tug to redirect her attention downward once more, made Clarke’s meaning more than clear.

Lexa smiled as she gazed between Clarke’s legs again. Perhaps their short conversation had given her enough time to recover? She brought two fingers between the swollen lips of Clarke’s pussy, pressing on either side of her clit.

Clarke moaned, and her hips stirred with invitation. 

“Pleasant company indeed,” Lexa murmured, sliding both fingers inside. Clarke clenched around her, warm and tight, and she sighed at the feeling. This was going to prove a very enjoyable voyage home indeed. She had stumbled upon a treasure far greater than any she had expected to find at this isolated priory, and she was determined not to squander it.


End file.
